Cold
by Mercurial Mirror
Summary: No one can escape death. Not even the great nations can. The dearly departed are allowed their peace, it is the living who suffer. The great church bells sing beautifully for the dead to sleep and the living to take comfort though it is often not seen as comfort. Elizabeta, a warrior who takes no comfort and sheds no tears in the eyes of the world; can she hear these bells tolling?


**A.N: A Prussia x Hungary fanfic based upon the poem 'Cambodia' by James Fenton and 'Cold In The Earth' by Emily Bronte. This story takes place during the early days of world war II, or rather, more aptly, pre-world war. There is a character death in this one, sadly. Please do excuse me for going a bit off track with the facts and there may be a bit OOCness going on, just a bit though. But please do bear with me as this would be my first official Fanfic. Now enough of my rambling and let the show begin.**

**P.S Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me everything belongs to their respective users. Thank you.**

It was amidst the backdrop of the wreckage and carnage of World War II that the ceremony was held. A ceremony that everyone has when their time is met; a funeral. His funeral was a rather simple one, held with a great air of solemnity that greatly contradicted his boisterous and sunny demeanor. His younger brother, the Great Country Germany, known as Ludwig Beilschmidt to humans and those whom wish to refer to him as such, had decided upon the ceremony and the empty sleek fir wood obsidian black catafalque that had been slowly lowered into the moist dirt to be concealed from the world above forever. This slow decent into the underworld was watched over a pair of icy blue orbs that were shielded by his the brim of his military visor hat decorated with the proud golden German eagle.

Following the dank ceremony from afar was a pair of moist emerald green spheres which had refused to succumb to its tears. Her chestnut tresses billowed slightly in the cool morning German wind obstructing her view ever so slightly of the many nations that stood around the empty grave offering their heart felt feelings for losing another great nation. The animosity between them forgotten momentarily as they gathered together to mourn for a comrade they had considered to be immortal due to his spirited and often carefree nature. She too had been no different in taking his existence for granted.

Elizabeta Hedervary, watched the gathering to honour the death of a king, and her most dear friend, from afar. Her place, as she felt it, was not with them for she had no right to be there. That was what her head had told her and yet her beating heart led her to meet the silence of his grave. She had refused to be an active participant despite her former husband's urges that _he_ would have wanted her to be there alongside everyone, alongside his brother. She declined. Choosing instead to hang back, seeking comfort and solace from _his_ pitch black Hanaverion, that had to escort its master to his final resting place and the navy blue mantel of times long gone. Times that she thought would have never came to an end.

Melancholic emerald orbs scrutinised the funeral. Agonizing over the miasmic atmosphere that pervaded all funerals and the amount of soot that floated around, appearing more as apparitions than mourners. _He_ would not have liked it she mused, recalling of all the memories she shared with him and during the sporadic moments when to the topic did surface he would often say, "Lot's of beer, song and fuckingly awesome drunk friends! Screw the mourning shenanigans!" and that was that. They were all blindingly bright memories when juxtaposed with his funeral; bleak and caliginous. But after all that had happened it was not in her place to have judged what he had wanted and it was not in his place to have died early.

There was so much more, so much more...

He was laughing and poking fun at her the day he said goodbye. Aureole ruby colored eyes shimmering with mischief dared her to cry. Of course she did not, though she did plant a rather forceful punch upon his shoulder which elicited a faint whimper of pain from him and a rather satisfied smile from her. It was almost time for the train to pull away and it was during this time did she see him off with a shy peck upon the cheek. It was an impromptu last minute goodbye that garnered many hoots from young Feliciano. To her it was not a goodbye but rather an incentive to make it home alive.

To come back home and continue an unfinished story. To fight against each other, alongside one another, to watch their countries prosper, to grow old together and so much more, so much more...

It was ironic that a kiss so full of hopes, dreams and prayers turned into a final goodbye...

The war began. Everyday was faced with the bellows of firearms and the cries of the living that turned into the dumbness of the dead.

'And still they die. And still the war goes on.'

She slogged through it all waiting for the end. Messages were exchanged as frequently as possible but that soon became impossible as the war progressed. Hope grew as the end neared. Hope that everything would continue once their superiors had exhausted all their lunacy in this idiotic war that would only serve as an addition to the growing numbers of wars that they had to under go. She was racing towards the end. Careless in her desire for the cold bitter winter to end and for spring to blossom.

Hope is a murderer. Always is and always will be. It was during the end when she received the news. Ludwig had personally came to her as a bearer of ill news. Nothing was left save the Iron Cross that hung around his neck. And that was left to her. Upon the back of the smooth silvery cross was her name, elegantly engraved in his neat script...

"Gilbert..." she whispered pathetically, too broken even to cry.

Everyone had left, including his brother, everyone save her. It was only when the entire burial ground was drenched in the sun's warm apricot yellow glow did she approach him. Smiling wistfully she finally allowed herself to cry as she leaned her back against the cool white marble.

"Screw the mourning shenanigans, eh?" She half chuckled through her tears wanting to honor those wishes of her dear most beloved friend.

That though was soon abandoned. 'He would not like it,' she thought but right then she couldn't have given a damn anymore at what he thought. At that moment Elizabeta Hedervary was made up of a little girl, a best friend and a lover; and all those roles just wanted to cry. So cry she did.

Years later...

"No other Sun has lighted up my heaven;

No other Star has ever shone for me:

All my life's bliss from thy early life was given-

All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee."

White flowers were laid across the tombstone. A retreating figure spotted. And around the porcelain neck there lay an ancient iron cross.


End file.
